No Company to Drown In
by hunter-strain13
Summary: Samara is lonely and she hates it. Won't someone cheer her up? Weird title, I know. Contains fluff, angst, and big mean burn victims. Rated for bad mouth.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Friday the 13th, The Ring, or Nightmare on Elm Street. If I did...this particular scene would have happened loooong ago.**

**Hello chickadees! This is my first crossover fic thingie. It was inspired by my fiance this morning. I hope it is good! Enjoy! Fluff, angst, and Mood Ruiner!Freddy.**

**Warning: Rated T for Freddy's mouth.**

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I had lost track of how long I had been crying. My throat had gone raw hours ago, but still the torrent of emotion stayed with me. My face felt stained with my tears and I had given up wiping them away. The drops fell on my dress, but instantly vanished into the already soaked material. I hated myself for feeling this way. It wasn't even pure sadness that made me weep. It was anger, it was loss, and the overwhelming knowledge that I was very, very alone.

A voice in the back of my head kept repeating the same phrase in a scratching whisper.

'No one loves you.'

I shook my head at it, trying to convince myself otherwise. I knew that someone out there cared about me. That Rachel woman...she did, right? No, of course she didn't. No one did.

No one loved me.

I screamed through my tears, the sound piercing the quiet around me. The fog gave no answer, just sitting silently along the gray ground. I hated the fog. I hated the barren trees that reached, in vain, towards the sky. I despised it all, and myself, but not more than I loathed the rocks that my back was propped against.

The well, the sole reason I was stuck here.

I slammed my back into the rocks, screaming again in agony and anguish. I wish badly to destroy the well, to pull it down, stone by stone, until it was no more. At my battery, some stones fell loose and splashed into the water below. I flinched at the sound, covering my ears. The water was just as spiteful as the ring of light that taunted me day after day.

My thoughts made me sick and I began sobbing into my knees. Sitting hunched and crying, I must have made a depressing sight to anyone who saw me. If anyone was around to see me. I was so lonely. I was afraid and I craved, more than anything, someone to talk to or someone to just be there when I needed them.

I didn't want to be alone anymore.

During my piteous wailing, I didn't notice that someone was, in fact, there with me. I didn't notice until there was a lapse in my cries and I heard the crunching of grass and dirt underfoot. My head shot up from my knees, long black hair spilling over my eyes. I snarled, terrified, and the sound was static. The figure kept moving forward, despite my threatening. I could see him, now, and it was indeed a male.

He was large, over 6 feet, with a hockey mask on his face. His dark clothes hung in tatters on his muscular frame. A machete was in one hand. At first, I was confused as to the state of dress and the purpose to which this man was here. Then, I realized who he was.

Jason Voorhees, the curse of Crystal Lake incarnate.

I snarled again, louder this time, but a question hung in the sound. The large killer didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He made it to me in six or seven long strides and stopped a few feet from me.

Fear began to numb my hands like ice cold water. I stared up at him and he stared back. We waited, locked in each others gazes for what felt like an eternity. Then, he crouched.

I flinched away, thinking he meant to hurt me. Instead, very slowly, he put his weapon in the ground to his side. He held up his gloved hands, nodding once, very slowly, to me. I remained wary. Voorhees cocked his head to one side and turned to reach into his pocket. My eyes followed his movements, curiousity getting the better of me. What he removed from his pocket made my eyes widen.

A small purple flower was in his hand, looking very small and fragile. Voorhees held it by the stem in between his thumb and forefinger with a care that was surprising. He looked back to me, holding the flower close to his chest. I waited. The large man nodded once more before holding the little flower out to me. I reached out, hesitantly, and stopped right before taking it. I met his dark eyes again, unsure. At my hesitance, he cocked his head and slipped the flower into my fingers. I almost jumped at the phsyical contact, but I was so enthralled by the gift.

It was so tiny, with 14 little purple petals around a yellow center. I touched the petals, gently, and was pleased at their softness. I looked back at Voorhees, a reluctant smile playing on my lips. I nodded my thanks. His eyes crinkled at the edges, as if he was smiling. Then, the huge man reached forward and took the flower from me. Sadness crept back into me for a brief moment before I realized what he was doing. He took my hair in his hand and tucked it behind one ear, slipping the flower at the top of that ear. I hadn't had so much of my face exposed in such a long time, I felt a bit nervous. I watched the man as he removed something else from his pocket.

A little pad of paper and a small pencil were in his hands. Confused, I stared as he began to scribble on the pad. When he finished, he stripped the little piece off and handed it to me. I took it from him and read the words.

_'You should wear your hair back more. You have such a pretty face.'_

If my heart was beating, I'm sure it would have raced and my cheeks would have gone red. My eyes shot back to his, uncertain of his intentions. He was still smiling, or his eyes were, at least. Tears pricked my eyes again and this time I did wipe them away. Having company, even the company of a large, homicidal mute, was such a nice feeling. He _wanted _to be here. I didn't force him here. I heard the scritching sound of him writing again. He handed me another piece of paper, which I read. As I did, the tears began to fall freely once more.

_'Drowning me, I know. If you ever need to talk, I'm here for you.'_

Overcome with emotion for his kind gesture, I did the only thing I could think to do. I threw myself at him and wrapped my arms around his neck in a hug. He stiffened, momentarily, at the contact before letting his own arms encircle me. The embrace was warm, warmer than I ever remember feeling. Our sopping wet clothes _squelched_ as they touched, but it didn't bother us. We simply sat like that for a few minutes, me crying into his shoulder, and he sat quietly, letting me vent all my emotions. We must have been quite a sight.

We. Using that word felt so alien, but I had missed it so badly.

As we held one another, another figure had come into the meadow. Neither of us noticed him until he laughed loudly, making me jump and making Voorhees whip his head around to see.

Freddy Kruger stood not 20 feet away, a large maniacal grin plastered on his burnt face. Voorhees let me go and stood, grabbing his machete and standing forward, imposingly. Kruger just chuckled darkly and moved towards us, all confidence and sass.

"Well, well, well. Ain't this fuckin' sweet? Voorhees and Samara having a little drowned kid sleepover. Tell me, fuck faces, you two talkin' all about your dead mommys?" I bristled at his words and stood as well, clenching my fists. Kruger shrunk away, mockingly, and spoke in a high pitched voice.

"Oh no! Please don't hurt me, Miss I-Make-Horses-Drown-Themselves." He stood normally again, sneering. "You're a fucking joke. No one is afraid of a little girl who wants her mommy. Seriously. No. One." He tapped his claws in the air at the last three words. He smiled at me and the smile made me shudder. Then, he stopped and the grin got even wider.

"Oh my sweet zombie Jesus! Is that...a flower in your hair? Fuck me, Voorhees! You brought her a little flower and even put her hair back? Ooooooh, this is just too good!" He laughed again and the sound traveled all around the meadow. The static of my growl followed his laughter. He stopped and his face went completely serious. He reached behind him, as if grabbing something. Voorhees stepped in front of me.

"Oh, you don't like Uncle Freddy's jokes? Fine. We can play then. I like this game." At that, he pulled to large colourful guns from behind his back. They didn't look lethal, not that it mattered, but then, I heard the water inside them. I froze and panic began to well inside my guts. Voorhees dropped his weapon and started visibly shaking. Kruger grinned now.

"SUPER SOAKERS, BITCHES!" He ran after us, chasing us all around the small grassy field. At that moment, I didn't hate anyone or anything more than I hated that man.

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**Ha! Was it good? Bad? Let me know, please! Reviews make me happy and they feed my review panda. Don't let Xio starve! **


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